An age-old question

Why do men spend so long in the bathroom?  I know this is a question pondered by wives across the world, but seriously…what is UP with that? And why does this always happen at the most “convenient” times for them?  Rarely is Snoop struck by stomach cramps that cause him to miss half of a football game.  And I’ve never seen him unfortunately holed up in the bathroom during a UFC fight.  Or when dinner is served.  Noooo.  These “problems” seem to arise at times like…bedtime.  Bathtime.  Clean the room time.  Etcetera and on and on…  Now, I’m certainly not accusing him of lying about having to go…there is evidence to support his claims wafting out from under the door.  I am, however, accusing him men of hiding in there.  Because there is no way that it should regularly take you over a half hour to take a shit.  No way, no how.  Now, perhaps if you had some sort of viral infection or had eaten a raw chicken breast I’d be more forgiving.  But given the frequency of these visits to the bathroom (frequently with cell phone and laptop in tow) I’m calling you out.  You can either confess now, or be forced to go to the doctor with your wife who will tell every detail of your apparent difficulty voiding your bowels and risk a visit from the dreaded scope and a horribly bland high-fiber diet.

 

P.S.  I just want to say that I know hiding in bathrooms happens, because I’ve done it.  When I was pregnant with Drama, I went grocery shopping and bought the most amazing looking fudge from a bake sale.  When I got home, I feigned stomach problems and hid in the bathroom to inhale my fudge because I knew neither my husband or greedy little one year old would dare come in there.  So I totally get it.

But I’m still calling you out.

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A brilliant plan

I’ve got an idea.  Probably the best idea I’ve ever had.  Perhaps the greatest idea ever thought.  It’s a sure-fire idea, and would certainly make whoever has the smarts to create it a multi-zillionaire who never have to work another day in their life.  And I’ll only charge a small amount for my idea…a “finder’s fee,” if you will. 

What we need is some sort of gadget that you can somehow hook to your body that is able to convert the amount of mental energy expended in a day into calories. 

Who wouldn’t want that?!?

If there was some way of doing this, I really think that a lot of my problems would be solved.  I know I need to exercise.  There was a day…not all that long ago, really…when I used to work out every day.  Hard.  And I loved it.  Then something happened.  Life.  I went back to work.  My kids got slightly older and involved in more activities.  My piles of laundry started to multiply and the dust bunnies mated.  And just like that…I was off the wagon. 

I’ve done a lot to avoid falling into this trap.  No time for the gym?  No problem…there’s a treadmill in the playroom and a giant weight bench in the garage.  Too cold to go out to the garage?  No prob…there’s a set of kettle bells right next to the dog toys in the living room.  Only have a few minutes to spare?  Grab the yoga ball and do some squats.  I’m telling ya…any excuse I could think of, I found a solution for.  But as it turns out, none of those are the problem.  It’s not that I don’t have time (though I don’t).  It’s not that it’s too cold in the garage (though it will be soon).  It’s that I don’t have the energy.  The mental energy.  I am going 100 mph…all day…every day.  I am biting off more than I can chew at work.  I have good intentions…it’s all building up the foundation that I need to be able to (*fingers crossed*) open up a private practice in a few years.  But in the meantime…it’s killing me.  I’m trying to squeeze 16 hours worth of work in an 8 hr day.  I could work 10 hr days…12 hr days…14 hr days…and maybe eventually get caught up.  But then what? I’d totally miss out on my kids’ lives.  So what do I do?  I work my mind numb all day at work and somehow on my 20-minute drive to pick them up, find the mental strength to give them 100%.  To make dinner and sit down at the table as a family and create memories I can only hope are as good as those I treasure from my own childhood.  To play.  To laugh.  To listen to their stories.  To read.  To snuggle.  To tuck them in and make them feel as safe and loved as they are. 

And then…

I collapse.  I’m spent.  I’m done.  And I can’t get the oomph I need to get my ass upstairs and work out.

That is exactly why we need my idea.  I’d be one hell of a skinny bitch.

We have a problem…

I haven’t blogged in so long, that I forgot my password.  I only have, like…3 passwords that I ever use, and NONE of them worked!  And my address bar up there didn’t respond when I started typing “www…wo-” I had to actually type the entire address!  This indicates to me that I have been away for waaay too long.  I have missed blogging so much, and every time I’ve thought about doing it I’m overcome by this huge feeling of *something*.  I’m not sure what it is…kind of like guilt, kind of overwhelming, kind of just all mixed up.  My life has been such a mixed up bag of tricks and emotions the past few months, and never has there been a time when I’ve felt less like sitting down at the end of the (way too) long day and typing.  Yet never has there been a time when I’ve needed it more.  I could sit here and explain exactly how I’m feeling, or I could just let Mama Smurf say it for me here.  My blog following habits have kind of fallen by the wayside a bit in recent months as well (if I’m being honest…most things have fallen by the wayside), but recently I’ve found myself visiting old “friends” and thinking to myself…I wanna do it again.  Just like Mama Smurf…Facebook has taken over what little time I do steal for myself, and just like her…I found myself overwhelmed by the “demands” of being a blogger.  Trying to be witty.  Wondering if what I was about to put out there was really “worthy” of being a blog.  But then I started to think about why I started blogging in the first place.  To vent.  To reflect.  To have a place that I could look back upon for memories of my children (because, c’mon…let’s face it, I’m CRAPPY at the whole baby book/picture printing/memory keeping stuff).  To express myself in my words, by myself, for myself.  *sidenote…the word “myself” has just totally lost all meaning*  So I’m back. 

But not for you.  For me. 😉